


for all you'll overcome

by colourexplosion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Niall and Gemma get married, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. niall's marrying gemma. louis broke up with harry a year ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for all you'll overcome

**Author's Note:**

> hello hi! this was written in like, a few hours last night, and therefore it is unbeta'd so probably full of mistakes and for that, I apologize. 
> 
> it was inspired by [this set of tags](http://additionaldirections.tumblr.com/post/86658144942/spankingkink-x-harry-helping-set-up-for) with a few changes made. the title comes from the fun. song entitled "I wanna be the one"
> 
> I make no profit from this, promise, it is very, very untrue and please don't show this to anyone even remotely connected to the boys. thank you. feedback is always appreciated. enjoy!

“Liam, I told you a _hundred_ times, the salad fork goes on the _outside_ ,” Harry says, exasperated and wondering just how someone can fail to grasp a simple concept. Liam’s a lovely bloke, really, and one of Harry’s best friends, but there are diagrams of how the place settings are meant to be set up, so it’s really just annoying and frustrating that he can’t get it right. 

“Sorry,” Liam’s deep voice calls from somewhere across the venue. The reception hall’s empty for now, but tomorrow night it’ll be filled with a hundred and fifty of their family and friends, who’ve traveled from all over to watch Gemma get married to the love of her life. “I thought the ones with four whatsits go on the outside.” 

“Tines,” Harry says patiently, though probably not all that kindly, “and no. Four tines is a dinner fork. Three is for salad. You eat the salad first, and then your dinner, so the dinner fork is next to the plate. Haven’t you seen _Pretty Woman_?” 

“Considering the fact that I’ve got zero interest in women, no,” Liam calls back. 

“That’s stupid, Li, everyone knows you watch _Pretty Woman_ for Richard Gere, anyway,” a voice says from behind Harry, and his whole body stills, going cold. 

Harry knows that voice, is the thing. He was deeply in love with that voice and the person attached to it and probably still is, is the thing, and he knows if he turns around he’ll see the face of his ex-boyfriend, who he hasn’t seen for a year. Not since he said that being with Harry was just ‘too much’ and that he ‘wasn’t ready for forever’ and they were ‘better apart’. Harry feels sick with the memory of it, the humiliation and heartbreak crashing over him so strong that he sways a bit, catching himself on the table. It’s lucky he’s clumsy and no one’ll suspect a thing. 

“Tommo!” Liam sounds delighted, which both irks Harry and makes him immeasurably happy. Their group had been good, before. When Louis left he hadn’t just left Harry, though it seems Harry’s the only one who’s held any sort of a grudge. That’s fair, he supposes. He’s the only one who got his heart broken. 

He swallows, taking a deep breath before turning to face Louis, who’s laughing and smiling and hugging Liam like it hasn’t been a year since they’ve seen each other. _Fuck,_ Harry realizes with another wave of debilitating cold washing over him, _maybe it hasn’t been a year._

“What are you doing here?” Harry’s voice comes out low and even, which he’s thankful for. It sounds more like he’s angry than anything else. Hell, maybe he is a bit angry. He thinks he’s got a right to be. 

Liam’s smile fades quickly, and he clears his throat, stepping away from Louis and back over to the table he was working on. Louis stuffs the hands in the pockets of his black jeans, looking Harry up and down with a smirk and a glint in his eye that makes something hot and uncomfortable twist in Harry’s belly. 

“You look good,” Louis says, his expression softening, and Harry’s jaw clenches. He’s got no right. _No_ right. 

“What are you doing here,” he repeats, almost growling. He feels a bit ridiculous, but he also feels a bit like a cornered animal.

“Suppose the best man had to make an appearance eventually,” Louis answers softly, like he knows no one’s bothered to tell Harry that Niall chose Louis to be a part of the wedding and didn’t even bother to fuckng tell him. 

His rage swells so quickly that he feels a bit light-headed with it, dizzy. His hand clenches around the fork he’s holding, and he has to turn away to squeeze his eyes shut and take some deep breaths. 

“Haz,” Louis says, his voice still so soft and-- and private and intimate like it used to be whenever they’d huddle together and talk about, just, everything. Their lives. Their futures. 

“No,” Harry chokes on it, his eyes flying open. He sets the fork down and moves to walk around the table, ramming his hip into the back of a chair painfully and cursing at it. 

“Hazza,” Liam says as Harry rushes past, looking concerned. “You all right?” 

“Later, Liam,” Harry says, waving him off. The door doesn’t slam behind him when he leaves, but he’s sure that’s only because it’s got one of those things that keeps it from doing just that. 

\---

The door to Niall’s room, conveniently doesn’t have a mechanism designed to keep it from slamming, so Harry bursts in, not even flinching when the door bounces off the wall. It’s fine, he’ll pay for any damages. He doesn’t really care right now. 

Niall raises an eyebrow at him as he stands in the doorway, breathing heavily and clenching his hands into fists over and over again. 

“Y’alright?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me Louis’ your best man?” 

Niall lets out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He get here, then?” 

“Yes.” Harry’s not embarrassed by the crack in the middle of such a short word, he’s not. 

“Look, it’s--” Niall scrunches up his face, “-- it’s complicated, all right? I would’ve chosen you, but I knew Gemma’d want you to, y’know--” 

“It’s not about that,” Harry half-shouts at him, insulted at the idea. Seriously. He’s not petty. He knows it’s not-- it’s not a competition. He knows that. “It’s about why I just had to figure out he’s coming by him sneaking up on me in the reception hall.” 

Niall groans. “I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t know he’d do that. I was trying to think of a way to tell you that didn’t involve this--” He waves a hand around, which Harry takes to mean, _the yelling_. 

Harry deflates a bit at that, sighing. “I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Just would’ve liked a little warning, is all.” 

“Yeah, I get it,” Niall says, standing and crossing the room to wrap Harry up in a hug. He accepts it gratefully, leaning his head on Niall’s. He’s glad that if anyone’s going to legally be his family, that it’s Niall. 

They stand for a few long moments like that, huddled together in the center of the room, until a knock on the door startles them. 

“You sure you’re marrying the right Styles sibling, Neil,” Louis quips from the doorway, making Harry’s back go rigid again. Niall sends him a sympathetic face, but Harry just shakes his head, ignoring Louis on his way out. 

\---

Liam’s buggered off somewhere by the time Harry gets back to the reception hall, but Harry can’t even make himself care, at this point. He starts to work on the centerpieces-- lavender in a glass jar with seafoam green tulle wrapped around, designed by Harry and Gemma together-- making sure the tulle’s laying correctly and that none of the lavender has gone dodgy. The scent of it soothes him, and he’s two away from being finished when he’s interrupted. 

“There are professionals for that very thing, you know,” Louis says from behind him, and Harry clenches his jaw, determined to ignore him. The thing is, Harry’s always been an open book, especially to Louis, and _especially_ after they’d been in a relationship for three years. Especially after Harry gave Louis everything and Louis chucked it in the bin like it didn’t matter. 

But, hell, maybe it had been Harry’s fault. Maybe he’d pushed too hard, wanted too much or just wanted something that Louis couldn’t give him. He’s always been in love with love, and he thought-- no, he knew that he loved Louis. Still loves him, even. There’s just nothing to be done about it, really. 

Except attempting to ignore him, which obviously doesn’t work. Louis plops down in the seat next to him as he reaches for the second to last centerpiece. Louis pulls the last one toward himself, running a finger over the flowers. 

“You’ll ruin it,” Harry says finally, adjusting the bow and placing the centerpiece to the side. He holds out a hand for the last one, barely managing to suppress a shiver that runs down his spine as his fingers brush Louis’. 

“Wouldn’t want to do that,” Louis murmurs, playing with some of the discarded flowers. It’s a thing he has, Louis. Always needs to be moving his hands, especially when he’s nervous. Harry can’t imagine why he’d be nervous right now. 

“Gemma would have your head, obviously.” 

Louis’ hands still on the tabletop. “Can’t imagine why she hasn’t already,” he says, and Harry can feel him looking. “For--” 

“Because I’m kinder than she is and spared her the details of my own stupidity,” Harry snaps, tightening the bow and pushing the centerpiece away. 

“What?” 

“I only ever told her we broke up, no details,” he says, feeling sick with the words. “So I suppose that’s why your head’s intact.” Harry stands, his chair dragging roughly against the floor. “Now, as pleasant as this has been, I’ve got a rehearsal dinner to get ready for.” 

Louis doesn’t call out for him as he walks away this time. Not that Harry even expected him to.

\---

The rehearsal dinner goes well enough. The only awkward part comes when Harry has to walk down the aisle with Louis-- part of his duties as Man of Honor and Louis’ as Best Man-- but Louis is blessedly silent, so really it’s easy enough to just pretend that he’s walking down alone. 

Except for a moment just as Gemma and Niall meet each other at the end and take hands, Harry’s gaze slides from his sister to Niall and then to each of the groomsmen. Louis’ gaze snaps to his and he looks a bit sad, maybe, but Harry could also just be projecting. 

_That should be us,_ he thinks, and then turns his head before he retches.

\---

They’ve already all gone for Niall’s stag do-- well, everyone except Louis, but Harry’s smart enough to know why that is-- so the only real thing they do after the dinner is watch as Gemma and Niall share a soppy sort of goodbye that makes Harry burn with jealousy. They’re going to be married the next day. 

Harry will probably never get married. He’ll just be that weird uncle who buys outrageous presents for other people’s children and visits on holidays and sometimes randomly when he gets back from trips. Being independently wealthy has its perks, definitely, but Harry’s always preferred to travel with a companion. But, anyway. 

They take Niall up to his room, where they’ve piled mattresses on the floor, and and sink down onto them. Harry makes sure he’s at the opposite end as Louis and hardly looks at him the whole night. One by one, they drift off to sleep. Zayn first, of course, and Liam following not long after, as if he’s intrinsically attuned to his boyfriend’s sleep schedule. Greg shuffles off to his own room not long after, and Louis falls asleep nestled between the wall and Zayn. Harry tells himself he’s not jealous. 

“S’it hard?” Niall’s about to drift off as well, Harry can tell, by how soft and slurred his voice has gone.

“Is what hard?” 

“Bein’ here, with him. Watchin’--” Niall yawns, his mouth opening wide and Harry hides a laugh into his pillow. “-- watching’ me and Gems, I mean.” 

Harry frowns. He’d hoped he’d been hiding it well, but he was never good at that sort of thing. Besides, Niall knows him too well to fall for it. “I’m happy for you,” he says, ruffling Niall’s blond fringe. “I really, really am. It’s worth it to see you and Gem happy. I promise.” 

Niall smiles sleepily and nods, and Harry can’t even return the smile before he’s fallen asleep, snoring softly. Harry stares at the ceiling a long time after that, waiting for sleep that doesn’t come.

\---

The preparations and the ceremony go smoothly, save for an incident with Liam’s jacket briefly catching fire, and it’s not even really until Niall’s giving his personally written vows that Harry realizes that his sister’s going to be _married._ They’ll probably have children within a few years and time will pass and they’ll still be in love and Harry will-- what? He’ll what? Be stuck pining over an arsehole that broke his heart? Probably. 

But as Niall steps forward to kiss Gemma for the first time as husband and wife, he looks so happy that Harry literally can’t care. It doesn’t matter if he never finds love again, or if he never gets married or has children of his own. He has a family that loves him, and while it may not be everything, it’s definitely enough. 

\---

“When I first met Niall,” Harry says, addressing the reception at large, a grin stretching his mouth, “he was four inches shorter than he is now and had blonder hair, if you can believe it.” 

The reception lets out an appreciative chuckle, easing Harry’s nerves. He’s rubbish at stories; everyone always tells him so, which is why he’s taken the time to actually practice this speech. Zayn looked it over for him to tell him if it made sense. It’ll be good. No matter the fact that he’s had a glass of champagne already and no actual food to speak of. He’ll be fine. 

“Really. Very blond. Anyway, I’ve always liked Niall, is my point, even when he’d do things like run around our flat in his just his pants or eat the Nutella straight from the jar. Oh! Once, he--” 

“Oh, do get on with it, Harold,” Louis’ voice cuts in from the side, clearly meant to carry. “ _I’m_ meant to be talking about Niall, if you’ll remember.” 

The reception laughs again, and Harry knows it’s supposed to be funny and witty and-- and something more like what he and Louis used to do, but humiliation seeps up his spine, bubbling in his stomach. 

“Right,” he says, giving a weak smile. “Right. Sorry.” He flashes his best grin, but he still feels off. Wrong. Unbalanced, maybe. “Gemma’s always been a great older sister. Smart, funny, and always willing to stick up for her lump of a baby brother. One time she-- well, no, nevermind, I won’t tell that in mixed company, I think--” The reception laughs, though Harry’s not entirely sure he meant it as a joke. “-- Gemma’s always been someone I looked up to, and Niall’s always been a friend I could turn to in a time of need. I can’t imagine anyone more suited to spend the rest of their lives together, and couldn’t be happier to welcome Niall into the family.” 

He picks up his champagne glass, catching Louis’ eye. 

“To a long and happy life together, and may you always bring each other happiness. Cheers!” 

\---

The dancefloor is hot, filled with people who’re drunk off love and cocktails from the open bar that Gemma and Harry’s stepdad thoughtfully provided. Harry’s been dancing for a long time, at least as long as Zayn-- or DJ Malik, as he likes to be called-- has been up there, but now it’s time for the band to come back and Harry doesn’t want to be there. They’re a band he looked at before, when he was with Louis and in love and had weddings constantly on his mind. Maybe picking out a band before being engaged was too much, maybe it’s still too much, but at least Harry knows that now. He knows it now, and that has to count for something. 

He may be a little drunk, actually. 

The cool night air sobers him once he breathes it in, head getting clearer and clearer as he makes his way through the courtyard and past the tall hedges that block in the garden. The fairy lights-- also Harry’s idea-- ended with the hedges, so it’s darker where he is. He finds a bench, though, and takes a seat, burying his face in his hands while trying to clear his head. 

“Nice spot,” Louis says, out of nowhere, startling Harry into looking up and around. 

He frowns. “Christ, did you follow me out here?” 

“You looked lonely,” Louis shrugs, and Harry presses his lips together. 

“I’m fine,” he says, “and I’m not sure it’s your business anymore whether or not I’m lonely.” 

Louis laughs. _Laughs._ Like it’s funny that Harry’s just said that. Like he’s just told a joke, or something. Harry doesn’t say anything, and neither does Louis. He just stands by the hedges, looking at Harry with a stupid glint in his eye. 

“Don’t you think it’s a bit selfish,” Louis says, voice like a blade, thin and pointed and thrust straight into Harry’s chest. “Being so concerned about me when your sister and your best friend have just gotten married?” 

It’s so sudden and unexpected that Harry recoils, as if Louis has slapped him. It certainly feels like it, at least. Where did that even come from? “Fuck you,” Harry chokes out, standing quickly from his place on the bench. “Don’t you dare call me selfish, I put everything I had into this for them--” 

“Yeah, I can see that, obviously. Do you think I didn’t notice the fucking fairy lights or the lavender centerpieces or the fucking _band_ , Harry? Christ. Did you plan their wedding or are you just living vicariously through them?” 

“It’s not like I was ever going to get to do it!” Harry’s voice echoes in the clearing around them, and he’s sure the guests in the courtyard closer to the building heard him, but he doesn’t care. He feels too close to tears for caring. “It’s not like I was ever, ever going to get to have a wedding, so yeah, I suggested some things to Gemma and she liked them, fucking sue me.” 

“So now you’re mad at me because you’ll never get married,” Louis says, his mouth clenched up in a way that Harry knows means he’s properly angry. Good. _Good._ It’s about time. “Like that’s even my fault--” 

“It _is_ ,” Harry shouts, throwing his arms up. He feels a bit like a petulant child, but Louis’ always brought that out in him, a bit. Especially when they fight. God, no one makes him as mad as Louis does. He stomps his foot, frustrated, choking back a breath that’s actually more like a sob and continues, softer, “You’re the love of my fucking life, Louis, do you get it? It’s you. It’s always been you. It’ll only ever be you, and you didn’t want it--” 

Harry breaks off, takes one shaky breath in and collapses back onto the bench again, crying. He can hear the band playing inside, though it just seems cruel now, that he’s not even going to get to dance and be happy for his sister. He just wanted to be happy, for once. He was doing so well.

The sound of shoes scuffling in the dirt registers over the sound of the music and his own heavy breathing. That’ll be Louis leaving, then, he’s sure. Who would want to stay after something as pathetic as that? Harry knows they’re over, he does, but he couldn’t let Louis just call him selfish like that. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to regain composure so he can go and get shitfaced and dance this off, but a familiar hand grips his wrist, hauling it away from his face. 

Louis takes Harry’s face in his hands, clambering onto the bench and onto his lap, thumbs wiping at the wetness on his cheeks. Harry lets him, mostly because he’s too wrung out and confused to do anything else.

“I did want it,” Louis murmurs and Harry feels something catch in his chest and bloom, a tentative warmth spreading through him. “I do want it, Harry, I do. Fuck. I only-- I broke up with you because I thought-- I thought you’d get tired of me or--” 

“We were together for three years, Lou.” 

“No, stop, I know. I’m an idiot, please. I know that. I was just-- I dunno. Trying to save myself the pain.” 

Harry doesn’t glare at him, but Louis winces like he had anyway. “How’d that work out?” 

“M’very stupid, as it turns out,” Louis murmurs, leaning in. 

“I love you anyway,” Harry says, and kisses him. 

Louis’ mouth is slick and warm and familiar in the best way, like sliding into your bed after a long trip, like pulling on your favorite jumper or pair of jeans or like coming home. Harry’s pliant under him, lost to the way Louis licks into his mouth and slides a hand into his curls, tugging just hard enough to drive him mad. 

“Never stopped wanting you,” Louis murmurs against his mouth, lips moving down to his jaw, pressing kisses into the skin there. His teeth graze the tendon in Harry’s neck and Harry’s hips roll up into Louis’ of their own accord, whimpering when he realizes they’re both half-hard. Harry slides a hand down Louis’ back, pressing the heel of his hand in hard just above the curve of his arse, pushing his hips down. 

“Fuck, Louis, _fuck._ ” Harry groans as Louis sucks a mark just under his jaw, rutting his hips into Harry’s, getting him harder by the second. There’s not enough leverage for them to come like this, but Harry relishes the feel of it anyway, his hand squeezing Louis’ bum as their hips work together. 

“Missed you,” Louis says, voice gone frantic with it, hands scrabbling at Harry’s flies and shirt. “Missed this, wanted you every fucking day.” 

Harry cries out when Louis’ hand finally wraps around him, smearing through the slick that’s gathered at the head and using it to smooth his way down, stroking hard and fast. Harry kisses him again, open-mouthed and messy, more tongues than anything else, but he doesn’t care because he can feel his orgasm coiling tight in his belly. 

“Close, close close,” he whimpers, throwing his head back when Louis’ pace picks up and his teeth clamp down on his neck. 

Louis sucks a mark into the skin, one of many, and when he leans up and whispers, “Never stopped lovin you,” Harry comes with a broken sound, his hips jerking so hard that Louis’ nearly thrown to the ground. It’s only then that Harry realizes they’re still outside and the reception for his sister’s wedding is still going on. Christ.

“It’s not the weirdest place we’ve had sex,” Louis says, reading his mind and Harry looks at him, laughing. 

“Guess not,” he murmurs, reaching out to draw Louis in close again. Harry can feel him, still rock hard against his thigh and rocking into it ever-so slightly. He’s tempted to watch Louis ride his thigh until he comes, tempted to push him onto the bench and suck him until he cries, but there’s something he wants more. 

“You think you can wait?” Harry punctuates it with a slight squeeze of Louis’ dick smirking at the way he holds back a groan. 

“Not if you keep doing that,” Louis says, voice tight, and Harry chuckles. 

“Good,” Harry says, hand reaching to deftly undo Louis’ flies, slipping a hand in to palm at his dick, hot and hard through the fabric of his pants. Harry slides them down, wrapping his hand around Louis’ length, hand working over him slowly. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Harry says, letting some precome pool in his hand before slicking it down the length of Louis’ cock, smirking when Louis’ fingers dig into his shoulder. “I want you to take me back to my room and fuck me like you mean all of those things, yeah?” 

“I do,” Louis gasps out, the hand on Harry’s shoulder moving to his neck, fingers digging in on this side of painful as he fucks up into Harry’s fist. “I do mean them, fuck, Harry, please.” 

“Yeah, suppose you do,” Harry murmurs against his ear, tightening his hand and twisting. “So come for me.” 

Louis does. It takes them both by surprise, it seems, since Harry gasps a bit as Louis groans into his neck, spilling hot and sticky into Harry’s hand. 

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, his death grip on Harry’s neck finally loosening. Harry laughs, the sound bubbling out of him, unable to contain it. Louis looks at him with a smile on his face, the one Harry knows means he’s hopelessly endeared and fond and, hopefully, in love. He leans in, pressing his mouth to Harry’s carefully, and Harry closes his eyes, kisses back just as gently. 

“What does this mean?” he asks when they break apart, the thumb of his clean hand tracing over Louis’ cheekbone. 

“It means I was an idiot,” Louis answers, sitting up a bit straighter and patting his jacket down for something. “It means I clearly still have feelings for you,” his hand emerges with a wad of tissue, and he picks up Harry’s hand, cleaning it carefully. “And it means now that I’ve got you again, I’m never letting go.” 

He looks up when he’s done, setting the tissues gingerly on the bench next to them. Harry can hardly breathe. 

“That alright with you?” Louis asks after a moment of silence and Harry laughs again, loud and happy. 

“It’s more than alright,” he says, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and pulling him close. “It’s brilliant.”

**Author's Note:**

> [come say hi!](http://www.jessimond.tumblr.com) thanks for reading!


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